[ It's much too late to blame the speed of flight for the heady dizziness that strikes her; too late to blame the blur of the ocean beneath them for vertigo. It's all, it's just Jaime, all what he says and how he feels and the way sincerity just suffuses everything he does. It leaves her feeling too warm all over, cheeks red for something like embarrassment even before he kisses her.
She doesn't know how to get used to this. Simple little statements shouldn't overwhelm her this badly every time, should they? She should be able to take them with an easy reciprocation, or a thank you, or a little bubble of satisfaction, but instead she shuts down into this discombobulated mess. It would be just her luck if he kept going on like this, and her poor beleaguered heart just went into arrest rather than keep this pace. It's still hard to speak. ]
I don't care about here, [ she manages, though it's hard to form the sounds properly when she can't stop smiling, ] I'm happy that I'm with you.
[ Jaime smiles back at her, so hard his cheeks hurt. He'd spent so long being the sappiest person in any room that it feels good to have it returned. That they're both on the same page. They've been so many places and have been through so much when the truth of it is that it doesn't matter where you are, as long as you're with the person you're supposed to be. Even through the fog of what must be the thrill of a new relationship, Jaime can feel that down to his bones. Ruka's one of the people he was supposed to be with, whatever it looked like. He's just lucky that she wanted to be with him in the same way he wanted to be with her. ]
That's what I meant.
[ Eventually even conversation between the two of them will lull, at least long enough so that Jaime can focus on their destination. Khaji even joins in for a little while, texting Ruka irately about someone online he'd gotten in some argument with the other day, groaning about inconsistencies in some system, chattering about holes he'd found in some games he'd been checking out until he too falls silent. Ruka will be able to tell where they're headed before they get to. It was probably easy to guess the whole time: they're going to Japan.
But Tokyo comes and goes. They sweep right over its tall spires and its ever-present glow to somewhere smaller, quieter. The place they land doesn't look noteworthy at all. The lights are infrequent and dim, populated more by small houses than it is by any buildings of particular note, an ocean of green bracketed by quiet rivers and mountains greeting them. Jaime lands in front of one of the houses. It's quaint and traditional, but otherwise completely and utterly ordinary, old enough that there's some visible wear and tear on it. ]
It's, um... I didn't plan anything fancy, really. If you wanna head to the big city instead, we can do that, easy.
[ When Ruka steps inside, she'll see that the inside is just as quaint as the outside. Despite him flying her halfway across the globe for this, the vista waiting for her looks a whole lot more like what any boyfriend would get for their girlfriend, or at least what their best efforts would be. There's a banner stuck from wall to wall with putty - HAPPY BIRTHDAY RUKA - a bottle of something bubbly shoved in a canister filled with what must be melted ice, a bouquet of flowers, a cake, and a bag that must be for whatever it is that he got her. It's something that he could have done for her at home. There was no need to come here.
He trails in after her. ]
But it's quiet here. And peaceful. And there's not a whole lot of people. The guy I rented this place from said that there's even a lot of cats that come by - he left us some treats, if we wanna feed them, and places to go walking, and places to eat. And there's supposed to be fireworks soon. And... I thought maybe you'd like some time away.
[ Away from so many people and prying eyes. No crises, nobody's emotions to have to attend to but her own, no flurry of everything like there is in cities. Just the two of them and the people making their quiet life out here, with nothing they have to do and nobody that needs their distraction. When he stopped to think about where he wanted to take her, he knew he wanted to take her somewhere familiar. As though they had met like normal people do, back in her home world, and they'd taken the train for a weekend away. Even now, they're surrounded by silence, save for the wind rustling through the trees, the quiet sounds of nature outside, their ginger footsteps against the mats lining the floor.
Maybe he should have done something truly spectacular. Taken her out for some eight course dinner and treated her to a swanky room in a fantastic hotel, where they could cheers on the rooftop and go dancing and try shopping in all of the best boutiques an check out the nightlife. But instead they're here. Just the two of them. ]
[ God, he's cute. Even with his real face hidden and distorted under the armor, his heart shines in his eyes, in the bend of his cheeks. He doesn't need to be doing... whatever it is he has planned, but it's sweet that he wants to all the same. Even this much is nice.
But they speed on, conversation ebbing; as ever, using the mental link to the Network is a little disconcerting, but it's easy to fall back into the rhythm of it with Khaji. (It's not the same as when he was with her, those few short minutes on the Moon Base; text isn't the same as the sound of his voice in her thoughts, or the pressure of his presence in her body. It's nothing close to the same.) But even for as familiar and easy as it is to trade complaints and jokes, all those conversations ease, and fall back, and without intending it, Ruka eventually falls asleep. It's always easier with him.
It's a short sleep, dreamless and barely restful, and it's hard to tell at first that time has passed at all — they're still flying, and flying towards the setting sun only seems to stretch time out, make it seem longer. The international date line means nothing to the burning of the sun. But endless ocean below and beyond them is broken now, ships and land and coast and bay and the sharp jag of metropolis. It's this that wakes her up properly — not the blur of emotion beneath them, indistinct and hazy like running through fog, but the sight of the city itself.
Ruka has been to two different Earths since leaving home, but in neither of them has she gone to Japan before now. In those, and in her own, she has never been to Tokyo. Her Japan is different. Maybe not in any way other people can really understand, but she sees it whenever she sees maps of it, sees the swath of blue water where an island should be, farmland and fishing villages where should be a glittering jewel of a city. It wasn't the capitol in the official sense, but it was the most important city in the world. More than that, Ruka had never seen anything of that country outside of Neo Domino, outside of Satellite. She never went to Tokyo to shop, to experience the culture; she never traveled into the country, to the mountains or the forests or anywhere else.
But before she can fully catastrophize — Jaime isn't really bringing her, the empath, to one of the most highly populated cities on the planet, right? Right? — they just continue on and blow right past even the farthest sprawl of the city boundaries. Ruka doesn't say anything aloud, but maybe Jaime felt it: the anxious way her arms tightened around his shoulders, and the slow bleed of tension as she relaxed.
They continue on. Black and gray trade for brown and green. They touch down while Ruka is looking this way and that, taking in the view of the old, small village; when Jaime finally sets Ruka down, she clings to his arms for a moment for stability, legs stiff and half-asleep from their long stillness. This is... after the scare of seeing Tokyo, this is not at all what she expected. With slow, not-quite-steady steps, Ruka leads the way into the house. She hears Jaime talking behind her, trailing back like a shadow, but her attention is flitting between so many other smaller things. The patches of moss on the pathway; the load-bearing pillars just before the entryway; the calls of unfamiliar birds in the trees; the song of cicadas, something she's never heard outside of movies. She enters the house. ]
Oh—
[ A startled, thoughtless sound, muffled immediately as Ruka's hands cover her mouth. Her breath catches, and her steps toward the table, the tacked-up banner. Her breath is uneven, and her steps slow, weaving. The decoration shouldn't seem like much: a quaint little cake, a bouquet of flowers, all the rest. It's nothing fancy, but it feels extravagant. The flight over took so long; how many trips had he made to pick this place, and get it set up? How long ago did he decide to do this, how did he justify how much effort this would be, how much time, how—
—and Jaime's still talking, nervous, as though he still needs to talk up what he's done, to puff it up to her satisfaction, when she's struggling against being overwhelmed. It is a losing struggle. ]
Oh, Jaime, you... I don't— I, nobody's ever— [ Her vision blurs. ] —all this for me?
[ A romantic getaway is a lot, but it had always been the agenda. A cake, some presents, her name on the wall — simple things like that shouldn't hit as hard as this, but explanation is harder. Nobody's ever done this for me. Who would? Not the parents she can't remember, absent from her life for so long before she left that world that she can't even remember their faces, remember their names. Going to the old world, who could? There were so many people she loved, but time with them was always so short — who had any to spare on extravagances like this? So many disasters, so much crisis, so much loss. And of course, the people who loved her, too, some were there when she was hurt, helped as they could to piece enough of her back together to keep on going, but this isn't a way to save her life. This isn't a bribe for her attention. This isn't obligation. This isn't a peace offering. This isn't bandage atop bandage atop wounds still hurting. This is, this is only, it's her birthday, and he wanted to give her something nice. That's all.
Ruka turns back towards Jaime; she hasn't even been out of his arms for five minutes and she's already drawn right back to him. Her hands tremble against his cheeks, and she shouldn't have bothered with makeup at all because she's just going to cry it all off. Is this too pathetic? Is this too needy? It must be, but she kisses him all the same, given too much and still left greedy. A girl's allowed to be greedy on her birthday, isn't she?
(Of course, since they've crossed the date line, it isn't her birthday anymore, but it's close enough to count, right?) ]
[ Jaime doesn't realize what's going through Ruka's mind while he's busy rambling - despite his talking ostensibly being for her benefit, he's a little too focused on himself and his own fretting and worrying. This isn't like what Ruka had done for him, arranging a trip to a swanky rooftop bar to an exotic place none of them had ever been in, in an unreasonably fancy hotel, heck, even making sure he had custom clothes for the occasion. He'd hoped that she'd be pleased, touched, maybe a little surprised that they get to spend some quiet time away, but that's it.
All of the trappings of what he's put together aren't so special. This is the sort of thing that his Dad would set up for his Mom on her birthday after a long shift. She'd shrug off her coat and toe off her shoes, massaging at her sore feet as she hopped forward on one foot to step into where Jaime's Dad, Jaime, and Milagro would be waiting, a pleased if not beleagured smile on her face. He's grown up around this, all his life. It's something he'd gotten before in return, only without the flowers. It's not special. It's ordinary. But Jaime's always liked ordinary, and anything else he could think up just seemed too artificial. This is him, store-bought cake and dollar-store banner and all. This is the type of life he wants to lead. Honestly, he expects her to laugh. Not at him, but that laughter you get when you're pleased but unsurprised, a sound of contentment more than anything else.
And then she turns around and acts like he'd given her the world on a silver platter. He stumbles a little as she turns back to him, legs stiff and feet fuzzy after so long spent at a high speed - longer than it usually takes; it's a trip that generally takes him moments, but he didn't dare move that quickly with Ruka in tow, even with the forcefield around them - taken completely off-guard by her reaction. All this, for some flowers? Some cake? A banner he'd picked up from the store? The trip over was the special part, not all this. But despite his pleased confusion, his hands find their place on the small of her back as he kisses her back, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. ]
I mean -- yeah, of course! [ He says, brow a little creased, mouth curled up at the corners. ] Of course it is. You deserve a nice birthday.
[ And that's exactly what she deserves. Not everything has to be the highest of highs, the lowest of lows. Sometimes things can just be nice. Reliable. A glimpse into the world as it should be - or, rather, Ruka's glimpse into the world as it should be as Jaime sees it. ]
[ It's hard to think of what else to say, what else to do. It's easy instead to sink where she stands; let him support her still-uneasy balance, let the heels of her palms rest against his jaw, thumbs at his cheeks, let them fall into a moment of stillness. Her heart beats too fast and too loud, but it doesn't seem to matter how she tries to subdue it, nothing works. He isn't helping. Not with that thrumming little puppy-dog anxiety, hoping she'll like it, not with his simple, earnest declarations. He makes it sound so easy, something like you deserve this, but it became so hard for her to believe easy.
It feels, as ever, that she doesn't. It feels like if he knew her better, knew more about the things she's done, the things she's allowed, then maybe — maybe he wouldn't change his mind, not now, not the way they are now, but maybe he'd have to think about it. She doesn't want him to; she's selfish, she knows, but she doesn't want to let go of this. She wants to keep this for as long as she can, as much as she can get away with. He isn't helping, not with how he holds her, or with the fond way he smiles at her, or with the soft darkness in his eyes.
It's so strange. A year ago, they were barely able to call themselves friends. And before that, it should have been nothing for the distance between them, but that wasn't true. Her graveyard is full, after all, and the Jaime of this world has his own ghost. Of course she kept her distance; she wanted to protect him. She wanted to do right. She wanted him to be okay, and to be happy, and to be himself. He didn't know her then, and if he'd ever looked at her twice, it was only for surprise, but he was always important to her. He was always, always going to mean something to her, no matter how much or how little he resembled his ghost.
He was always going to matter this much to her. No matter what he did, or how he felt, no matter if he never learned her name; her heart has always been too stupid to discard anything. She was always going to love him, somehow, but it's strange that it took this shape. Strange, that after everything she's said, and done, and left unsaid, and left undone, that he would ever look at her like this in return.
Her nose bumps against his; she can't pull away. She leaves it unsaid. ]
I love it. [ It's the most she can manage. It's the closest she can get right now. ] Thank you.
That's all I wanted, [ Jaime says, as earnest as he ever is - and she knows he's sincere. Even if she'd wanted to do something he didn't - to go clubbing, or dancing, or shopping, or any other number of things that Jaime's not comfortable with - he would have done it for her in a heartbeat. It just so happens that what sounded like an ideal weekend away to him seemed like something she would like too. Close enough to her original home to have a nice look around, distant enough not to hammer down on uncanny it is. Simple, and quiet, without too many people, enough space so that she can sit and breathe.
The cats, though - the bit about the cats is what he thinks she'll like. He's pretty sure they don't like him anyway. ]
You're welcome. And hey, this is just the start! We've got lots of time to do... whatever we want, really.
[ When's the last time she had that? When's the last time he had that? A vacation, a proper one, with nobody to answer to but each other. Even if they just wind up sleeping all day and flying to get some decent food, it will be worth it.
He's pretty sure they'll do more than sleep. His hands slide down her arms to grasp at her wrists, tangling their fingers together, not quite moving away. ]
Mmmm-maybe, [ she murmurs, a long, drawn-out indecision. Saying yes feels like agreeing to rush back outside into daylight, where the bright sun and the louder immediacy of foreign summer would force their attentions back to the world around them. Saying no, well, she's not sure what that would mean, but probably nothing good. ]
I guess it depends where the weekend's starting, doesn't it? [ Her hands squeeze his back, the sensation muted by her gloves. (If it's just them, she can take them off, but — maybe that's too forward. Maybe that's too much.) ] Do I get to see the rest of the house first? Or, is it cake first? I never did get my in-flight drink service. Or, do you think I'm still too over— um, [ Calling herself overdressed is definitely too forward, isn't it, ] still, uh, dressed too fancy for what's next? Hmm?
[ This is the real reason they're on the other side of the planet: the complete freedom to be disgustingly affectionate and flirtatious without risk of anyone they know accidentally stumbling in. ]
I'm thinking... first, presents. Then cake, 'cause we can do things backwards if we wanna. Then a tour of the house, and maybe some food? We can go for a walk and find someplace to go, but I picked up some stuff from the convenience store if we just wanna hang out here for a while. I thought you might be tired after the long flight, and -- oh, you should see the convenience stores here! They're crazy good! They got, like, full meals, not those crappy spinning hot dogs that have been left out for maybe an entire year.
[ He tilts his head towards her a little, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hands creep up, over her gloved arms, thumbs finding purchase in the crook of her elbow, hands grasping at her upper arms. ]
But you're the birthday girl. I figure I chose the place. You get to decide what you wanna do next. And, um... how you want to be dressed for it.
[ He's gone a little red at that. But having a day in, lounging over some middling convenience store in and doing... doing what people do on romantic vacations...
Oh, geez. He's getting ahead of himself. It sounds nice, is all. But that's a Jaime way of spending their vacation, not necessarily a Ruka one. He doesn't know how she likes to vacation. Maybe she likes to see nature? Eat some good food? See museums? Go drinking?
It's part of why being here is so exciting. It's new. He gets to see another side of her. It just so happens that the side of him that's on vacation is more or less the same as he is back home. He's always been simple in nature; a change of scenery doesn't change that. ]
[ This is embarrassing. They're embarrassing. It would be nice to say she's only so flustered because he is, and that it's his gun-shy nature that's swaying her heart the same way, but that's not the truth. She's nervous, all on her own. Jaime — and what she has with Jaime — is too precious to mess up with flippant intimacy. If she'd hurt anyone else, what did it matter? If she'd have ruined things with anyone else, who cared? But Jaime's sweet, and kind, and too good for her by half, and he wanted to go slow, and just because it's like this doesn't mean it's like that and—
Where Ruka tends to spin her wheels in the chaotic privacy of her own thoughts, Jaime just starts talking and just keeps talking, rambling and dancing around the unspoken subject. But his hands find the edges of her gloves — palms against the bare skin of her arms, thumbs along the line of her pulse, and her heart rate spikes at that kind of contact. He's nervous, too, and nervous isn't aversion. He wouldn't have done all this if he didn't want to be here. ]
... Presents first. [ God, she's a wreck. She doesn't even think about moving to mirror, but her gloved hands find places to rest against his forearms, just shy of his elbows. Jeez, they've made out how many times now, and this is where she loses her mind? Maybe she should blame him. It would be a lot less embarrassing to chalk it up that way. ] I, uh. I think if I try planning any more than that, I'll forget what it was before we get there.
[ At this rate, they just might get to the table by the time she turns thirty. ]
[ Jaime laughs, thumbs rubbing at the top of her gloves one more time before his hand slips down to link her fingers in his, leading her over to the table. ]
Well, we can't be having that. The cake's gonna get stale at this rate. The trip's the main present - the rest is just, you know. Extras? It felt weird not having anything to physically hand to you.
[ That, and it felt wrong, knowing how little she owns. There's a good reason for it - when one world is destroyed and all of your stuff goes away with it, it's hard to want to reassemble your collection - but he still wants her to have it. It's something that cements people here, that makes a house a home. And he wants her to feel at home here. It's been long enough, hasn't it? ]
Here. Open it.
[ It's a bag. It's got a few items in it, though only a few - there's some sort of esoteric, fantastical art print that he thought she'd like considering the sort of aesthetic she favours, a friendly looking western-style dragon plushie with a great big goofy smile that had obviously amused him, a plain, delicate silver necklace that couldn't have cost all that much, and a strategy-based video game.
Okay, so he'd gotten most of the presents from FanPort. Support local artists, right? ]
The game's from Khaji. It's already downloaded onto your computer, but I told him we should probably pay for it.
[ There's also an envelope, down at the bottom. It looks lumpy. ]
[ By the time his hands move, her arms are all goosebumps. It takes a lot more effort than she wants to admit, to follow without stumbling (can she blame jetlag when they were never in a plane?). His laugh and his mood is infectious, and even flustered, she can smile back, taking the bag without making a fuss about it being too much.
The print looks lovely, though there's a moment where she looks a little surprised — she's not really someone who decorates like that. (It doesn't occur to her that that's the reason behind it.) The plush gets a laugh out of her, a play moment where she pantomimes it ""attacking"" Jaime (she sets it on his head, to roost in his hair, until it inevitably falls off). The necklace puts a small, soft little smile on her face, a complimentary murmur, and she fumbles a little to try putting it on — gloves and lobster clasps aren't great friends. She might need help here.
As for the game, her nose scrunches a little for amusement, giving a bit of a suspicious look. ] If you deleted any of my stuff to make space, I'm wiping you from the leaderboards.
[ Does she have the power to do that? Who knows, but it's probably not much of a deterrent for someone who could just as easily reclaim them. With that done, she moves to collapse the now-empty bag to discard later, but... oh. There's something else still in here. With a confused little furrow at her brow, she pulls out the envelope, glancing once more at Jaime. Going on about how the trip is the present and then giving her this many gifts anyway... he really doesn't hold back on these kinds of things, does he? ]
This, too?
[ It's not marked, though... maybe it had just been in the bag when he started packing it, and it's for something else. ]
[ Ruka's phone buzzes in return as Jaime moves to help Ruka with the necklace, a laugh still on his lips from when he'd been the subject of a dragon 'attack'. In the back of his head, he knows how dangerous this all is. If she were to ever leave...
He wouldn't be able to get rid of a thing, would he? ]
Correction 1: I am not incompetent enough to do so. Correction 2: Assuming correction 1 was false, I would be back on the leaderboard within 47.2 hours of play. Correction 3: Try it.
[ Khaji, it seems, is not intoxicated by the romantic atmosphere, and is quite happy baiting Ruka. She gives him a run for his money, but that's all right. Khaji's always liked a challenge. That, and it's not as though he doesn't have plenty of time on his hands; he has to do something while Jaime's off living his own life, which has gotten far, far more busy than Khaji prefers in the last couple of years.
Jaime, unaware of this conversation beyond some grumbling racing up and down his spine, snatches the envelope from out of Ruka's hands, holding it with both of his hands, the paper becoming a little creased. He had put it in there before he could lose his nerve, but now he's thinking that everything else had gone so well that this isn't really necessary, right? ]
Um...! [ Well, he can't back out now. ] Yeah. But you have to promise not to laugh!
[ It's not easy to have two conversations at once, but while Jaime's getting the necklace on her, it's a little easier to muster focus for the neural network. ]
1: I wasn't implying incompetence. You could have just really hated my file organization. 2: Slow. 3: I'll remember this.
[ Which is why she's not quite focused enough on reality to do anything against the envelope getting stolen so quickly — it's definitely a surprise, and Jaime's reaction is a little intense, too.
What did he do... ]
... I promise, [ she replies, a little slowly, a little suspicious, ] but if you put googly eyes on it, it's going to be a hard promise to keep.
I -- maybe I should have put googly eyes on it. It'd be an improvement.
[ All right, Jaime, enough dilly dallying. He squints down at the envelope, then tips out its contents into the palm of his hand before holding it out for Ruka to see. It's a keychain. A keychain of a carved rabbit, to be more specific.
Well, maybe calling it a keychain of a rabbit is a little generous. It's something that's rabbit-y if you squint. There's definitely the right number of limbs, even if one foot is bigger than the other, and two janky looking ears sticking out of it, and the face - well, the face is where there was some difficulty, clearly, along with... the rest of it. Jaime's good with his hands, but that doesn't necessarily transfer over to being able to carve something like this given the timeframe he was working with. ]
Remember how we were talking about giving you something to carry in your pocket when the world gets a little, um, loud? I could only offer you stuff that was recycled from before, so I wanted to give you something new. But buying something means you'd just feel whatever the person who made it felt, and I wouldn't be able to, like, fake emotions while holding onto a piece of plastic? So then I thought I'd make it myself!
[ This isn't his first time making it. Craftsmanship is hard! Who knew? ]
Believe it or not, this is after I got someone to teach me. I dunno if it's strong enough, but I thought of you the whole time, so... here.
[ The best way to describe the keychain is that it feels like Jaime. Which is to say, Jaime didn't quite reach his goal of pouring in nothing but positive emotions. There's always been an undercurrent of anxiety and self-consciousness and worry to Jaime, even in times of relative peace, a certain restlessness. It thrums underneath the rest of it like a steady pulse, just as she probably feels it whenever they spend time together, even if he tries to tamp it down, just as he'd tried to tamp it down while he was carving.
But there's more to it, of course. An earnest sense of determination and devotion, a fondness that's more suited to a friend of years and years than it is the short-lived intensity of a new flame, hope, affection, a little bit of good humour like he'd laughed at himself while he was making it, while the reality of having her see it wasn't so keen.
They haven't exactly exchanged I love yous and Jaime's not planning on it. But his heart is where it is. Ugly though it is, it's something that was clearly made by someone who cared enough about her to have made it over and over again until he'd well and truly run out of time.
When he looks at it in her hands, he places one hand on his chin. ]
I'm seriously considering this whole googly eye thing.
[ Ruka isn't really sure what she expects. Certainly not for Jaime to open it himself, and even then hold back from giving it to her until after he starts talking.
That much she does expect, though; when his heart starts to race for nerves, his mouth starts running to keep pace, as if saying enough would be enough to drown out the rest. Her attention flicks between the charm and his face, and while it takes a touch too long for her to understand what he's getting at, the moment it does feels like a mallet striking her chest, her whole body alert and stifled — a bell straining not to ring.
She takes the charm with cupped hands and a serious focus. Sure, it's a little uneven, a little lopsided; the face is a little doofy, like a half-melted candy, but... he made this. For her. And for as long as Ruka has been an imPort, for as long as she's had powers in these worlds, she's always had this haptic empathy, this penalty to touch. Everything, everything made in the world is something handled, something packaged and carried, passing from hand to hand and place to place, muddied with feelings from every miserable part of the globe. Of course it's hard to endure through that; of course she avoids what she can, and suffers what she can't, and moves on.
But for all the years she's had these powers, for all the people she's told, all the people she's known, that she's loved, there's only one other person who's given her something like this. Only one — and even Karkat didn't have the patience to start from scratch. Even he'd gotten someone else to start the work, to shape it, to build the frame for him to hang his feelings.
It's with that thought, unspoken, that Ruka shifts the rabbit into her right hand; it's with the passing of names, and faces, of all else who have come before that she bites at the fingers of her left-handed glove, pulls it off slowly. She thinks of all the hearts she's swallowed before — unwilling, unknowing, uncaring — and does not wonder why a gift like this is so rare. She knows why.
It is frightening to be known like this. It is terrifying to give your heart to someone else like this.
She rolls the rabbit from one hand to the other — from glove to skin. Her hand doesn't so much close around it as it does embrace it, her fingers turning it over, thumb tracing the features.
It's no electric shock of emotion. It's no great tidal wave of feeling, carrying her away. It is not even that much terribly far removed from the way Jaime feels now, beside her, despite his thrumming with uncertainty. It has the same bright spots of humor as when he hears a dumb joke; the calm, not-quite-mindless focus like when he's cooking, or when they're flying in the quiet dark. The little notes of worry, of care, when he tries so hard to cheer her up. The bright little horizon line of sunlight, from smiling when he sees her again for the first time.
It's a hundred little moments, all named, all known. It's a heart full of sentiment, all known, but not all of it spoken.
Neither of them have said it.
Neither are saying much now, either — Jaime having trailed silent, and Ruka left speechless, overwhelmed. She turns the charm round again, her own expression soft, focus a little distant. It's a little rough, still, unpolished, carved with uncertain incisions, that worry of doing the wrong thing, but neither of them are all that polished, either. They're both rough in too many places, uneven and uncertain and trying very hard to hold shape.
Ruka nestles the rabbit onto the fabric of her glove; with her hand freed, she removes the other. It still leaves that slim leather bracer, covering the outside of her right arm from wrist to elbow, but it reveals both her hands — fingers slim, a little bony, a little pale.
She holds them both out for him to take. ]
You didn't have to do this. [ It's not deflection. It's not rejection. Her voice is soft, but the tone is acknowledgement. He didn't have to do this; he chose to do this. There are too many things left to say, but it's still too hard to say them. Not when he might think it's colored by the journey. Not when he'll think it's skewed by gifts. He deserves it with a certainty she can't give him now.
There's still time. God, she hopes there's still time. ]
But don't you dare put stuff like that on it now. It's wonderful. Just the way it is.
[ That's the funniest part of this whole thing, isn't it? Jaime wasn't worried about what she would feel. Not for a second. It had been a careful, intentional thing, handling it only when he was certain he was in the right frame of mind outside of carving the dang thing, pouring whatever he had in him into it, but that's never the part that worried him. She knows him. She knows what he feels about her. And anything she feels then won't be a shock to the system,whether what she feels is good or bad. That small thing which had once felt so monumental, the knowledge that somebody else could see to the core of what he was feeling even when he himself wasn't altogether clear on it, doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore. He'd just been worried that it was strong enough, or that she'd laugh at how ugly it was, or that somehow one of those dumb janky ears would snap off. It's not as cute as she deserves. But what's in it? Nah. That's a gift he had given her - if you can call it a gift - before they'd started dating, when she warned him what she was, and he told her he didn't care.
That was a lie then, of course. But it's not now. And he can't help the softness in his expression when he watches her looking at it, small fingers rubbing against the grooves as though it's something so much more special than a hunk of wood that Jaime had painstakingly hacked at until it met his rapidly decreasing standards. But she knows what it means. People always say that it's the thought that counts. That's rarely entirely accurate - but it is for something like this. ]
I wanted to, [ he says, brow a little creased, eyes crinkling at the corners, clasping her bared hands in his. It's silly that that feels like it's more important than kissing, sometimes, for as much as he enjoys it, but he knows what that means. ]
I - I thought you'd know what I meant by it, [ he says, smile crooked. Well, more crooked than it usually is, which it is - he's always had a bit of a crooked jaw. ] And I figured you deserved something that was just yours.
I hope you keep it with you. You know. For when stuff gets wild.
[ And if he leaves - and he doesn't think that he will, not at this point - then she won't have to hold onto a memory of a face, of a voice. She'll have the most important bit, right there. ]
[ It feels like a promise, but it feels like no more than a confirmation of the obvious, too. Of course she'll keep it with her. Of course. She's told him how much steadier his presence makes her feel; the directness of his emotions, good and bad, always feels like a shelter against the erratic miasma of her own.
And it'll be good, she thinks; he always has so much else going on, too. For as often as she's cried for company — after that mess with another Eridan showing up, that meltdown because of Atropos, and a half-dozen little things in-between — he's always been able to humor her. It'll be nice, to have a little stopgap like this. Something to reach for, when he's got more important things on his plate. But right now, while they're here, she's content leaving it on the table, leaving it with her gloves. She doesn't have any intention of putting those back on any time soon.
Her hands are a little restless within his, fingers shifting against his, and dragging against his palms — cataloging all the little dry spots, rough edges, with the same tender attention she gave the rabbit. ]
... you know, [ she murmurs, gaze fixed somewhere around the collar of his shirt, his chin, the tilt of his smile, her own mouth doing a poor job of restraining a matching one. ] I think it's time we... let go, of going "slow." Right? I mean. Most couples usually schedule the honeymoon last, right?
[ Jaime's always been a romantic. These sorts of things have been more important to him than they were to Traci, and if he had to guess, they're more important to him than Ruka too, who would likely be happy no matter where he took her so long as he didn't screw it up big-time. But that's not what he wants. He's always wanted more. Cuddling on the couch and buying flowers and holding hands and going for carriage rides and long, romantic walks, watching sunsets and sunrises, experiencing things together, getting caught up in it all - he's never fessed up to it because that's never felt like the right thing to want for a guy in his shoes, but there's something deep in his chest that's always yearned for it. So of course he tried to make this romantic. He could say it's for her - and it is - but it's for him too, these little dreams he's always carried with him. How could he be any other way, knowing the life that he's known? His parents, years and two children into a marriage, having gone through citizenship and military service and school and long hours at the hospital, still just as in love as they were before, his Mom packing his Dad lunches, his Dad ready at the door with slippers and a shoulder rub.
So maybe it's not a surprise when she describes it the way she does, because Jaime hadn't done anything by half-measures. But honeymoon, that --
His nose only scrunches for a second, more earnest confusion than anything else, but then it registers that she's talking about stopping it with the going slow, and her gaze is heady with meaning, and all of a sudden he's not thinking very hard about the words she used after all. Jaime opens his mouth, but nothing comes out the first time.
He's always been the type to take this stuff slow - but he's certain. Why hedge around a certain thing? He leans towards her, a little over her due to their disparity in height, grinning down at her, nervous but undoubtedly excited. ]
We've got time.
[ That is, for the record, a resounding yes. A place to themselves, nobody to bother them, nobody here that even knows them --
This is going to be a good trip. ]
-- That's a yes! Not a we got time to take it slow, just -- we got time now. Or, um. You know what I mean.
[ The realization takes a few moments to click into place on his end, and even if she has her gaze a little averted, she can see it at the edges of his expression, feel it in the way he coils slow around confusion and then so abruptly seems knocked over, bright and open and spilling forth with affection. It's like the sudden blooming of flowers, or the tipping over of intricate dominoes and watching their spirals and bridges create a portrait in collapse. It's a big deal, but it feels like a small thing, too, too small to earn this kind of reaction.
Then again, it's never felt like this much of a big deal with anyone else, either. Just Jaime. ]
I know what you mean. [ God, he's cute. He's so cute. It takes effort to extract one of her hands from his, to brush some of the hair out of his eyes — and if gesture idles there, coiling a lock or two around her fingers, who can blame her? Even this kind of touch and texture feels novel, when she has to spend the rest of her life holding back. ] Now sounds pretty good to me, too. I don't feel anyone else. It's just... us.
[ Still... playing with his hair... ] And... since you've already carried me all this way, you... might as well finish the job.
And me without my superstrength and everything. Guess I'm stuck doing this old school.
[ He gets to carry her? God, he feels giddy all over again. It's lucky that they link up so well, he thinks, or that she magically knows exactly what he's looking for: he's always been one for old school romance. He colours as she brushes at his hair, a thrill running down his spine. He's always wanted more than he thought he could have, the silly things that boys probably aren't supposed to want, that superheroes with more on their plate and responsibilities to bear don't have time for, that people who live in places like these aren't supposed to rely on --
But it's already been a wonderful day. They're allowed to have the perfect end to it, or at least a good one, so long as she doesn't expect too much. He'll have to establish that, that he really meant it when he said he had only been with one other person before, young and fumbling and half-ashamed, but it can't dampen his mood.
So he sweeps her off her feet, and -- well, she did say honeymoon, which he definitely isn't going to think about, but it's hard to avoid the parallels when he dips her a little, giving her a clumsy little kiss, teeth knocking together because he can't wipe that stupid little grin off his face. ]
Lucky for me, you're not too heavy.
[ Of course he whisks her away to exactly where they have in mind, leaving the cake and decorations behind, wholly forgotten. ]
[ The good mood is infectious. It feels like it should be strange, how much these little things mean to him, how much brighter his smile and easier his mood can get over something dumb like carry me, but it's just the way Jaime is. He's forthright, and his heart gets to the point in the shortest possible distance — something good happens, he's made happy by it, with minimal catastrophizing. She calls it a honeymoon, and here he is, practically vibrating out of his skin at the notion, scooping her up with ease — and then promptly tilting her back far enough that she starts laughing for vertigo, train of thought lost. She winds up grabbing his shirt as useless anchor against the angle, and off-kilter kissing does nothing for her laughter, but so what? What's the harm in having a little fun, for once? ]
You're sure? You seem pretty strong to me.
[ She can't remember the last time anything was just fun.
It takes a little finagling, but she manages to kick off her shoes en route, heels making an unceremonious racket against the floor, but — who's that going to bother? It's not like they're back in Jeopardy, or Heropa, holding hands and kissing quiet behind the sound curtain of a too-loud BlueTube playlist. It's just them, with nothing dangerous hanging over their heads, no calamity, no tragedy, nobody else to worry about. Just... something nice. ]
If there's something you don't like, or, you want to stop, you have to tell me. Okay? [ Her nose scrunches, voice a little teasing. ] Saying no isn't your strong suit, but I don't want to push you, or anything.
[ Jaime giggles, a light, effervescent sound as he makes his way through the matted floors, a little amazed at how familiar and how unknown this is all at once, the setting exotic in a way that Jaime's never seen before (he really only managed to grab the place and pick up a few doodads from the convenience store) but having Ruka in his arms is such a wonderfully familiar thing, has been since before they even started dating. It's the same as this whole thing, isn't it? Familiar, but different.
Good different, though. Different in a way that buzzes right down to his bones, from the way she kicks off her shoes with a careless thump they'd never do otherwise to the fact that even now, with emotions running as high as they are, she's still checking up on him, as though he's something precious to be preserved.
She doesn't have to. But he kind of likes that she does anyway. ]
I will. But I don't wanna stop now, I can promise you that much.
[ The bedroom's not much. A table low to the ground, a futon, a TV he doubts they're going to get much use out of, sliding doors leading out into the backyard. ]
I'm not -- I mean, I haven't done much. [ He's done very, very little. But it's hard to feel ashamed or embarrassed right now. ] So you might hafta be a little patient. But I'm ready to learn.
[ And that's the whole of it, isn't it? I'm ready. Even with Traci, he'd been comfortable with where they were, a little resistant when it came time to keep going. But he's older now, and this feels good, certain.
She's never had much trouble telling him what's what anyway. Traci being more experienced was intimidating. Ruka being more experienced is a relief. ]
[ It's teasing, but it's fond, sincere. It's hardly her first time — it's been a long time since she could call herself chaste — but it's very, very different. With Eridan, cautious and fumbling, their slow progression had been half the consequence of their age, and half, quite simply, that he wasn't human. The way he approached relationships wasn't human. And, well, the Alternian approach didn't call for much direct intimacy, so of course it had taken more time to work out what could work. Everyone else, boys but never boyfriends, time was always short. Guys that flirted in the dark never intended to see her in daylight, and that was fine. She was a novelty prize — desperately sought in the moment, a thrill for the accomplishment, and gently discarded.
To put it another way, she has decent enough experience with guys wanting to be with her, but rarely, rarely with them wanting to be with her. Even Eridan, who'd dated her for years, who'd sworn fidelity and eternity and a thousand other lofty, romantic things... he'd never tried to know her. He was only ever desperate for prizes to hoard.
Descending to the futon is a little more careful a journey than it would be to a framed mattress, but it surprises her how soft it feels once they're down. This wasn't the kind of life she lived before becoming an imPort; she'd always had Western-style beds, way too large for a child's needs, and everything else high up, high class, sterile and removed from the world around them. She presses the heel of her palm down to test the yield, and finds it suitable.
On the plus side, no springs. Even better, it's never been used to roll up a cadaver. Always important.
As ever, her hand is drawn back to his face, bare fingers scratching into beard. Her own expression is made soft by the look of him; she doesn't have to worry about noise, but it makes her speak more quietly, anyway. ]
Don't worry about trying to do things right. [ Okay, telling him not to worry has never worked in literally any other circumstance, but she really means it this time. ] Just... follow what you want. That's all.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ It's much too late to blame the speed of flight for the heady dizziness that strikes her; too late to blame the blur of the ocean beneath them for vertigo. It's all, it's just Jaime, all what he says and how he feels and the way sincerity just suffuses everything he does. It leaves her feeling too warm all over, cheeks red for something like embarrassment even before he kisses her.
She doesn't know how to get used to this. Simple little statements shouldn't overwhelm her this badly every time, should they? She should be able to take them with an easy reciprocation, or a thank you, or a little bubble of satisfaction, but instead she shuts down into this discombobulated mess. It would be just her luck if he kept going on like this, and her poor beleaguered heart just went into arrest rather than keep this pace. It's still hard to speak. ]
I don't care about here, [ she manages, though it's hard to form the sounds properly when she can't stop smiling, ] I'm happy that I'm with you.
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That's what I meant.
[ Eventually even conversation between the two of them will lull, at least long enough so that Jaime can focus on their destination. Khaji even joins in for a little while, texting Ruka irately about someone online he'd gotten in some argument with the other day, groaning about inconsistencies in some system, chattering about holes he'd found in some games he'd been checking out until he too falls silent. Ruka will be able to tell where they're headed before they get to. It was probably easy to guess the whole time: they're going to Japan.
But Tokyo comes and goes. They sweep right over its tall spires and its ever-present glow to somewhere smaller, quieter. The place they land doesn't look noteworthy at all. The lights are infrequent and dim, populated more by small houses than it is by any buildings of particular note, an ocean of green bracketed by quiet rivers and mountains greeting them. Jaime lands in front of one of the houses. It's quaint and traditional, but otherwise completely and utterly ordinary, old enough that there's some visible wear and tear on it. ]
It's, um... I didn't plan anything fancy, really. If you wanna head to the big city instead, we can do that, easy.
[ When Ruka steps inside, she'll see that the inside is just as quaint as the outside. Despite him flying her halfway across the globe for this, the vista waiting for her looks a whole lot more like what any boyfriend would get for their girlfriend, or at least what their best efforts would be. There's a banner stuck from wall to wall with putty - HAPPY BIRTHDAY RUKA - a bottle of something bubbly shoved in a canister filled with what must be melted ice, a bouquet of flowers, a cake, and a bag that must be for whatever it is that he got her. It's something that he could have done for her at home. There was no need to come here.
He trails in after her. ]
But it's quiet here. And peaceful. And there's not a whole lot of people. The guy I rented this place from said that there's even a lot of cats that come by - he left us some treats, if we wanna feed them, and places to go walking, and places to eat. And there's supposed to be fireworks soon. And... I thought maybe you'd like some time away.
[ Away from so many people and prying eyes. No crises, nobody's emotions to have to attend to but her own, no flurry of everything like there is in cities. Just the two of them and the people making their quiet life out here, with nothing they have to do and nobody that needs their distraction. When he stopped to think about where he wanted to take her, he knew he wanted to take her somewhere familiar. As though they had met like normal people do, back in her home world, and they'd taken the train for a weekend away. Even now, they're surrounded by silence, save for the wind rustling through the trees, the quiet sounds of nature outside, their ginger footsteps against the mats lining the floor.
Maybe he should have done something truly spectacular. Taken her out for some eight course dinner and treated her to a swanky room in a fantastic hotel, where they could cheers on the rooftop and go dancing and try shopping in all of the best boutiques an check out the nightlife. But instead they're here. Just the two of them. ]
...happy birthday, Ruka.
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But they speed on, conversation ebbing; as ever, using the mental link to the Network is a little disconcerting, but it's easy to fall back into the rhythm of it with Khaji. (It's not the same as when he was with her, those few short minutes on the Moon Base; text isn't the same as the sound of his voice in her thoughts, or the pressure of his presence in her body. It's nothing close to the same.) But even for as familiar and easy as it is to trade complaints and jokes, all those conversations ease, and fall back, and without intending it, Ruka eventually falls asleep. It's always easier with him.
It's a short sleep, dreamless and barely restful, and it's hard to tell at first that time has passed at all — they're still flying, and flying towards the setting sun only seems to stretch time out, make it seem longer. The international date line means nothing to the burning of the sun. But endless ocean below and beyond them is broken now, ships and land and coast and bay and the sharp jag of metropolis. It's this that wakes her up properly — not the blur of emotion beneath them, indistinct and hazy like running through fog, but the sight of the city itself.
Ruka has been to two different Earths since leaving home, but in neither of them has she gone to Japan before now. In those, and in her own, she has never been to Tokyo. Her Japan is different. Maybe not in any way other people can really understand, but she sees it whenever she sees maps of it, sees the swath of blue water where an island should be, farmland and fishing villages where should be a glittering jewel of a city. It wasn't the capitol in the official sense, but it was the most important city in the world. More than that, Ruka had never seen anything of that country outside of Neo Domino, outside of Satellite. She never went to Tokyo to shop, to experience the culture; she never traveled into the country, to the mountains or the forests or anywhere else.
But before she can fully catastrophize — Jaime isn't really bringing her, the empath, to one of the most highly populated cities on the planet, right? Right? — they just continue on and blow right past even the farthest sprawl of the city boundaries. Ruka doesn't say anything aloud, but maybe Jaime felt it: the anxious way her arms tightened around his shoulders, and the slow bleed of tension as she relaxed.
They continue on. Black and gray trade for brown and green. They touch down while Ruka is looking this way and that, taking in the view of the old, small village; when Jaime finally sets Ruka down, she clings to his arms for a moment for stability, legs stiff and half-asleep from their long stillness. This is... after the scare of seeing Tokyo, this is not at all what she expected. With slow, not-quite-steady steps, Ruka leads the way into the house. She hears Jaime talking behind her, trailing back like a shadow, but her attention is flitting between so many other smaller things. The patches of moss on the pathway; the load-bearing pillars just before the entryway; the calls of unfamiliar birds in the trees; the song of cicadas, something she's never heard outside of movies. She enters the house. ]
Oh—
[ A startled, thoughtless sound, muffled immediately as Ruka's hands cover her mouth. Her breath catches, and her steps toward the table, the tacked-up banner. Her breath is uneven, and her steps slow, weaving. The decoration shouldn't seem like much: a quaint little cake, a bouquet of flowers, all the rest. It's nothing fancy, but it feels extravagant. The flight over took so long; how many trips had he made to pick this place, and get it set up? How long ago did he decide to do this, how did he justify how much effort this would be, how much time, how—
—and Jaime's still talking, nervous, as though he still needs to talk up what he's done, to puff it up to her satisfaction, when she's struggling against being overwhelmed. It is a losing struggle. ]
Oh, Jaime, you... I don't— I, nobody's ever— [ Her vision blurs. ] —all this for me?
[ A romantic getaway is a lot, but it had always been the agenda. A cake, some presents, her name on the wall — simple things like that shouldn't hit as hard as this, but explanation is harder. Nobody's ever done this for me. Who would? Not the parents she can't remember, absent from her life for so long before she left that world that she can't even remember their faces, remember their names. Going to the old world, who could? There were so many people she loved, but time with them was always so short — who had any to spare on extravagances like this? So many disasters, so much crisis, so much loss. And of course, the people who loved her, too, some were there when she was hurt, helped as they could to piece enough of her back together to keep on going, but this isn't a way to save her life. This isn't a bribe for her attention. This isn't obligation. This isn't a peace offering. This isn't bandage atop bandage atop wounds still hurting. This is, this is only, it's her birthday, and he wanted to give her something nice. That's all.
Ruka turns back towards Jaime; she hasn't even been out of his arms for five minutes and she's already drawn right back to him. Her hands tremble against his cheeks, and she shouldn't have bothered with makeup at all because she's just going to cry it all off. Is this too pathetic? Is this too needy? It must be, but she kisses him all the same, given too much and still left greedy. A girl's allowed to be greedy on her birthday, isn't she?
(Of course, since they've crossed the date line, it isn't her birthday anymore, but it's close enough to count, right?) ]
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All of the trappings of what he's put together aren't so special. This is the sort of thing that his Dad would set up for his Mom on her birthday after a long shift. She'd shrug off her coat and toe off her shoes, massaging at her sore feet as she hopped forward on one foot to step into where Jaime's Dad, Jaime, and Milagro would be waiting, a pleased if not beleagured smile on her face. He's grown up around this, all his life. It's something he'd gotten before in return, only without the flowers. It's not special. It's ordinary. But Jaime's always liked ordinary, and anything else he could think up just seemed too artificial. This is him, store-bought cake and dollar-store banner and all. This is the type of life he wants to lead. Honestly, he expects her to laugh. Not at him, but that laughter you get when you're pleased but unsurprised, a sound of contentment more than anything else.
And then she turns around and acts like he'd given her the world on a silver platter. He stumbles a little as she turns back to him, legs stiff and feet fuzzy after so long spent at a high speed - longer than it usually takes; it's a trip that generally takes him moments, but he didn't dare move that quickly with Ruka in tow, even with the forcefield around them - taken completely off-guard by her reaction. All this, for some flowers? Some cake? A banner he'd picked up from the store? The trip over was the special part, not all this. But despite his pleased confusion, his hands find their place on the small of her back as he kisses her back, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. ]
I mean -- yeah, of course! [ He says, brow a little creased, mouth curled up at the corners. ] Of course it is. You deserve a nice birthday.
[ And that's exactly what she deserves. Not everything has to be the highest of highs, the lowest of lows. Sometimes things can just be nice. Reliable. A glimpse into the world as it should be - or, rather, Ruka's glimpse into the world as it should be as Jaime sees it. ]
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It feels, as ever, that she doesn't. It feels like if he knew her better, knew more about the things she's done, the things she's allowed, then maybe — maybe he wouldn't change his mind, not now, not the way they are now, but maybe he'd have to think about it. She doesn't want him to; she's selfish, she knows, but she doesn't want to let go of this. She wants to keep this for as long as she can, as much as she can get away with. He isn't helping, not with how he holds her, or with the fond way he smiles at her, or with the soft darkness in his eyes.
It's so strange. A year ago, they were barely able to call themselves friends. And before that, it should have been nothing for the distance between them, but that wasn't true. Her graveyard is full, after all, and the Jaime of this world has his own ghost. Of course she kept her distance; she wanted to protect him. She wanted to do right. She wanted him to be okay, and to be happy, and to be himself. He didn't know her then, and if he'd ever looked at her twice, it was only for surprise, but he was always important to her. He was always, always going to mean something to her, no matter how much or how little he resembled his ghost.
He was always going to matter this much to her. No matter what he did, or how he felt, no matter if he never learned her name; her heart has always been too stupid to discard anything. She was always going to love him, somehow, but it's strange that it took this shape. Strange, that after everything she's said, and done, and left unsaid, and left undone, that he would ever look at her like this in return.
Her nose bumps against his; she can't pull away. She leaves it unsaid. ]
I love it. [ It's the most she can manage. It's the closest she can get right now. ] Thank you.
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The cats, though - the bit about the cats is what he thinks she'll like. He's pretty sure they don't like him anyway. ]
You're welcome. And hey, this is just the start! We've got lots of time to do... whatever we want, really.
[ When's the last time she had that? When's the last time he had that? A vacation, a proper one, with nobody to answer to but each other. Even if they just wind up sleeping all day and flying to get some decent food, it will be worth it.
He's pretty sure they'll do more than sleep. His hands slide down her arms to grasp at her wrists, tangling their fingers together, not quite moving away. ]
So? You ready to get this weekend started?
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I guess it depends where the weekend's starting, doesn't it? [ Her hands squeeze his back, the sensation muted by her gloves. (If it's just them, she can take them off, but — maybe that's too forward. Maybe that's too much.) ] Do I get to see the rest of the house first? Or, is it cake first? I never did get my in-flight drink service. Or, do you think I'm still too over— um, [ Calling herself overdressed is definitely too forward, isn't it, ] still, uh, dressed too fancy for what's next? Hmm?
[ This is the real reason they're on the other side of the planet: the complete freedom to be disgustingly affectionate and flirtatious without risk of anyone they know accidentally stumbling in. ]
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[ He tilts his head towards her a little, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hands creep up, over her gloved arms, thumbs finding purchase in the crook of her elbow, hands grasping at her upper arms. ]
But you're the birthday girl. I figure I chose the place. You get to decide what you wanna do next. And, um... how you want to be dressed for it.
[ He's gone a little red at that. But having a day in, lounging over some middling convenience store in and doing... doing what people do on romantic vacations...
Oh, geez. He's getting ahead of himself. It sounds nice, is all. But that's a Jaime way of spending their vacation, not necessarily a Ruka one. He doesn't know how she likes to vacation. Maybe she likes to see nature? Eat some good food? See museums? Go drinking?
It's part of why being here is so exciting. It's new. He gets to see another side of her. It just so happens that the side of him that's on vacation is more or less the same as he is back home. He's always been simple in nature; a change of scenery doesn't change that. ]
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Where Ruka tends to spin her wheels in the chaotic privacy of her own thoughts, Jaime just starts talking and just keeps talking, rambling and dancing around the unspoken subject. But his hands find the edges of her gloves — palms against the bare skin of her arms, thumbs along the line of her pulse, and her heart rate spikes at that kind of contact. He's nervous, too, and nervous isn't aversion. He wouldn't have done all this if he didn't want to be here. ]
... Presents first. [ God, she's a wreck. She doesn't even think about moving to mirror, but her gloved hands find places to rest against his forearms, just shy of his elbows. Jeez, they've made out how many times now, and this is where she loses her mind? Maybe she should blame him. It would be a lot less embarrassing to chalk it up that way. ] I, uh. I think if I try planning any more than that, I'll forget what it was before we get there.
[ At this rate, they just might get to the table by the time she turns thirty. ]
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Well, we can't be having that. The cake's gonna get stale at this rate. The trip's the main present - the rest is just, you know. Extras? It felt weird not having anything to physically hand to you.
[ That, and it felt wrong, knowing how little she owns. There's a good reason for it - when one world is destroyed and all of your stuff goes away with it, it's hard to want to reassemble your collection - but he still wants her to have it. It's something that cements people here, that makes a house a home. And he wants her to feel at home here. It's been long enough, hasn't it? ]
Here. Open it.
[ It's a bag. It's got a few items in it, though only a few - there's some sort of esoteric, fantastical art print that he thought she'd like considering the sort of aesthetic she favours, a friendly looking western-style dragon plushie with a great big goofy smile that had obviously amused him, a plain, delicate silver necklace that couldn't have cost all that much, and a strategy-based video game.
Okay, so he'd gotten most of the presents from FanPort. Support local artists, right? ]
The game's from Khaji. It's already downloaded onto your computer, but I told him we should probably pay for it.
[ There's also an envelope, down at the bottom. It looks lumpy. ]
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The print looks lovely, though there's a moment where she looks a little surprised — she's not really someone who decorates like that. (It doesn't occur to her that that's the reason behind it.) The plush gets a laugh out of her, a play moment where she pantomimes it ""attacking"" Jaime (she sets it on his head, to roost in his hair, until it inevitably falls off). The necklace puts a small, soft little smile on her face, a complimentary murmur, and she fumbles a little to try putting it on — gloves and lobster clasps aren't great friends. She might need help here.
As for the game, her nose scrunches a little for amusement, giving a bit of a suspicious look. ] If you deleted any of my stuff to make space, I'm wiping you from the leaderboards.
[ Does she have the power to do that? Who knows, but it's probably not much of a deterrent for someone who could just as easily reclaim them. With that done, she moves to collapse the now-empty bag to discard later, but... oh. There's something else still in here. With a confused little furrow at her brow, she pulls out the envelope, glancing once more at Jaime. Going on about how the trip is the present and then giving her this many gifts anyway... he really doesn't hold back on these kinds of things, does he? ]
This, too?
[ It's not marked, though... maybe it had just been in the bag when he started packing it, and it's for something else. ]
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He wouldn't be able to get rid of a thing, would he? ]
Correction 1: I am not incompetent enough to do so.
Correction 2: Assuming correction 1 was false, I would be back on the leaderboard within 47.2 hours of play.
Correction 3: Try it.
[ Khaji, it seems, is not intoxicated by the romantic atmosphere, and is quite happy baiting Ruka. She gives him a run for his money, but that's all right. Khaji's always liked a challenge. That, and it's not as though he doesn't have plenty of time on his hands; he has to do something while Jaime's off living his own life, which has gotten far, far more busy than Khaji prefers in the last couple of years.
Jaime, unaware of this conversation beyond some grumbling racing up and down his spine, snatches the envelope from out of Ruka's hands, holding it with both of his hands, the paper becoming a little creased. He had put it in there before he could lose his nerve, but now he's thinking that everything else had gone so well that this isn't really necessary, right? ]
Um...! [ Well, he can't back out now. ] Yeah. But you have to promise not to laugh!
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1: I wasn't implying incompetence. You could have just really hated my file organization.
2: Slow.
3: I'll remember this.
[ Which is why she's not quite focused enough on reality to do anything against the envelope getting stolen so quickly — it's definitely a surprise, and Jaime's reaction is a little intense, too.
What did he do... ]
... I promise, [ she replies, a little slowly, a little suspicious, ] but if you put googly eyes on it, it's going to be a hard promise to keep.
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[ All right, Jaime, enough dilly dallying. He squints down at the envelope, then tips out its contents into the palm of his hand before holding it out for Ruka to see. It's a keychain. A keychain of a carved rabbit, to be more specific.
Well, maybe calling it a keychain of a rabbit is a little generous. It's something that's rabbit-y if you squint. There's definitely the right number of limbs, even if one foot is bigger than the other, and two janky looking ears sticking out of it, and the face - well, the face is where there was some difficulty, clearly, along with... the rest of it. Jaime's good with his hands, but that doesn't necessarily transfer over to being able to carve something like this given the timeframe he was working with. ]
Remember how we were talking about giving you something to carry in your pocket when the world gets a little, um, loud? I could only offer you stuff that was recycled from before, so I wanted to give you something new. But buying something means you'd just feel whatever the person who made it felt, and I wouldn't be able to, like, fake emotions while holding onto a piece of plastic? So then I thought I'd make it myself!
[ This isn't his first time making it. Craftsmanship is hard! Who knew? ]
Believe it or not, this is after I got someone to teach me. I dunno if it's strong enough, but I thought of you the whole time, so... here.
[ The best way to describe the keychain is that it feels like Jaime. Which is to say, Jaime didn't quite reach his goal of pouring in nothing but positive emotions. There's always been an undercurrent of anxiety and self-consciousness and worry to Jaime, even in times of relative peace, a certain restlessness. It thrums underneath the rest of it like a steady pulse, just as she probably feels it whenever they spend time together, even if he tries to tamp it down, just as he'd tried to tamp it down while he was carving.
But there's more to it, of course. An earnest sense of determination and devotion, a fondness that's more suited to a friend of years and years than it is the short-lived intensity of a new flame, hope, affection, a little bit of good humour like he'd laughed at himself while he was making it, while the reality of having her see it wasn't so keen.
They haven't exactly exchanged I love yous and Jaime's not planning on it. But his heart is where it is. Ugly though it is, it's something that was clearly made by someone who cared enough about her to have made it over and over again until he'd well and truly run out of time.
When he looks at it in her hands, he places one hand on his chin. ]
I'm seriously considering this whole googly eye thing.
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That much she does expect, though; when his heart starts to race for nerves, his mouth starts running to keep pace, as if saying enough would be enough to drown out the rest. Her attention flicks between the charm and his face, and while it takes a touch too long for her to understand what he's getting at, the moment it does feels like a mallet striking her chest, her whole body alert and stifled — a bell straining not to ring.
She takes the charm with cupped hands and a serious focus. Sure, it's a little uneven, a little lopsided; the face is a little doofy, like a half-melted candy, but... he made this. For her. And for as long as Ruka has been an imPort, for as long as she's had powers in these worlds, she's always had this haptic empathy, this penalty to touch. Everything, everything made in the world is something handled, something packaged and carried, passing from hand to hand and place to place, muddied with feelings from every miserable part of the globe. Of course it's hard to endure through that; of course she avoids what she can, and suffers what she can't, and moves on.
But for all the years she's had these powers, for all the people she's told, all the people she's known, that she's loved, there's only one other person who's given her something like this. Only one — and even Karkat didn't have the patience to start from scratch. Even he'd gotten someone else to start the work, to shape it, to build the frame for him to hang his feelings.
It's with that thought, unspoken, that Ruka shifts the rabbit into her right hand; it's with the passing of names, and faces, of all else who have come before that she bites at the fingers of her left-handed glove, pulls it off slowly. She thinks of all the hearts she's swallowed before — unwilling, unknowing, uncaring — and does not wonder why a gift like this is so rare. She knows why.
It is frightening to be known like this. It is terrifying to give your heart to someone else like this.
She rolls the rabbit from one hand to the other — from glove to skin. Her hand doesn't so much close around it as it does embrace it, her fingers turning it over, thumb tracing the features.
It's no electric shock of emotion. It's no great tidal wave of feeling, carrying her away. It is not even that much terribly far removed from the way Jaime feels now, beside her, despite his thrumming with uncertainty. It has the same bright spots of humor as when he hears a dumb joke; the calm, not-quite-mindless focus like when he's cooking, or when they're flying in the quiet dark. The little notes of worry, of care, when he tries so hard to cheer her up. The bright little horizon line of sunlight, from smiling when he sees her again for the first time.
It's a hundred little moments, all named, all known. It's a heart full of sentiment, all known, but not all of it spoken.
Neither of them have said it.
Neither are saying much now, either — Jaime having trailed silent, and Ruka left speechless, overwhelmed. She turns the charm round again, her own expression soft, focus a little distant. It's a little rough, still, unpolished, carved with uncertain incisions, that worry of doing the wrong thing, but neither of them are all that polished, either. They're both rough in too many places, uneven and uncertain and trying very hard to hold shape.
Ruka nestles the rabbit onto the fabric of her glove; with her hand freed, she removes the other. It still leaves that slim leather bracer, covering the outside of her right arm from wrist to elbow, but it reveals both her hands — fingers slim, a little bony, a little pale.
She holds them both out for him to take. ]
You didn't have to do this. [ It's not deflection. It's not rejection. Her voice is soft, but the tone is acknowledgement. He didn't have to do this; he chose to do this. There are too many things left to say, but it's still too hard to say them. Not when he might think it's colored by the journey. Not when he'll think it's skewed by gifts. He deserves it with a certainty she can't give him now.
There's still time. God, she hopes there's still time. ]
But don't you dare put stuff like that on it now. It's wonderful. Just the way it is.
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That was a lie then, of course. But it's not now. And he can't help the softness in his expression when he watches her looking at it, small fingers rubbing against the grooves as though it's something so much more special than a hunk of wood that Jaime had painstakingly hacked at until it met his rapidly decreasing standards. But she knows what it means. People always say that it's the thought that counts. That's rarely entirely accurate - but it is for something like this. ]
I wanted to, [ he says, brow a little creased, eyes crinkling at the corners, clasping her bared hands in his. It's silly that that feels like it's more important than kissing, sometimes, for as much as he enjoys it, but he knows what that means. ]
I - I thought you'd know what I meant by it, [ he says, smile crooked. Well, more crooked than it usually is, which it is - he's always had a bit of a crooked jaw. ] And I figured you deserved something that was just yours.
I hope you keep it with you. You know. For when stuff gets wild.
[ And if he leaves - and he doesn't think that he will, not at this point - then she won't have to hold onto a memory of a face, of a voice. She'll have the most important bit, right there. ]
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[ It feels like a promise, but it feels like no more than a confirmation of the obvious, too. Of course she'll keep it with her. Of course. She's told him how much steadier his presence makes her feel; the directness of his emotions, good and bad, always feels like a shelter against the erratic miasma of her own.
And it'll be good, she thinks; he always has so much else going on, too. For as often as she's cried for company — after that mess with another Eridan showing up, that meltdown because of Atropos, and a half-dozen little things in-between — he's always been able to humor her. It'll be nice, to have a little stopgap like this. Something to reach for, when he's got more important things on his plate. But right now, while they're here, she's content leaving it on the table, leaving it with her gloves. She doesn't have any intention of putting those back on any time soon.
Her hands are a little restless within his, fingers shifting against his, and dragging against his palms — cataloging all the little dry spots, rough edges, with the same tender attention she gave the rabbit. ]
... you know, [ she murmurs, gaze fixed somewhere around the collar of his shirt, his chin, the tilt of his smile, her own mouth doing a poor job of restraining a matching one. ] I think it's time we... let go, of going "slow." Right? I mean. Most couples usually schedule the honeymoon last, right?
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So maybe it's not a surprise when she describes it the way she does, because Jaime hadn't done anything by half-measures. But honeymoon, that --
His nose only scrunches for a second, more earnest confusion than anything else, but then it registers that she's talking about stopping it with the going slow, and her gaze is heady with meaning, and all of a sudden he's not thinking very hard about the words she used after all. Jaime opens his mouth, but nothing comes out the first time.
He's always been the type to take this stuff slow - but he's certain. Why hedge around a certain thing? He leans towards her, a little over her due to their disparity in height, grinning down at her, nervous but undoubtedly excited. ]
We've got time.
[ That is, for the record, a resounding yes. A place to themselves, nobody to bother them, nobody here that even knows them --
This is going to be a good trip. ]
-- That's a yes! Not a we got time to take it slow, just -- we got time now. Or, um. You know what I mean.
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Then again, it's never felt like this much of a big deal with anyone else, either. Just Jaime. ]
I know what you mean. [ God, he's cute. He's so cute. It takes effort to extract one of her hands from his, to brush some of the hair out of his eyes — and if gesture idles there, coiling a lock or two around her fingers, who can blame her? Even this kind of touch and texture feels novel, when she has to spend the rest of her life holding back. ] Now sounds pretty good to me, too. I don't feel anyone else. It's just... us.
[ Still... playing with his hair... ] And... since you've already carried me all this way, you... might as well finish the job.
[ What. She likes to be Held. ]
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[ He gets to carry her? God, he feels giddy all over again. It's lucky that they link up so well, he thinks, or that she magically knows exactly what he's looking for: he's always been one for old school romance. He colours as she brushes at his hair, a thrill running down his spine. He's always wanted more than he thought he could have, the silly things that boys probably aren't supposed to want, that superheroes with more on their plate and responsibilities to bear don't have time for, that people who live in places like these aren't supposed to rely on --
But it's already been a wonderful day. They're allowed to have the perfect end to it, or at least a good one, so long as she doesn't expect too much. He'll have to establish that, that he really meant it when he said he had only been with one other person before, young and fumbling and half-ashamed, but it can't dampen his mood.
So he sweeps her off her feet, and -- well, she did say honeymoon, which he definitely isn't going to think about, but it's hard to avoid the parallels when he dips her a little, giving her a clumsy little kiss, teeth knocking together because he can't wipe that stupid little grin off his face. ]
Lucky for me, you're not too heavy.
[ Of course he whisks her away to exactly where they have in mind, leaving the cake and decorations behind, wholly forgotten. ]
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You're sure? You seem pretty strong to me.
[ She can't remember the last time anything was just fun.
It takes a little finagling, but she manages to kick off her shoes en route, heels making an unceremonious racket against the floor, but — who's that going to bother? It's not like they're back in Jeopardy, or Heropa, holding hands and kissing quiet behind the sound curtain of a too-loud BlueTube playlist. It's just them, with nothing dangerous hanging over their heads, no calamity, no tragedy, nobody else to worry about. Just... something nice. ]
If there's something you don't like, or, you want to stop, you have to tell me. Okay? [ Her nose scrunches, voice a little teasing. ] Saying no isn't your strong suit, but I don't want to push you, or anything.
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Good different, though. Different in a way that buzzes right down to his bones, from the way she kicks off her shoes with a careless thump they'd never do otherwise to the fact that even now, with emotions running as high as they are, she's still checking up on him, as though he's something precious to be preserved.
She doesn't have to. But he kind of likes that she does anyway. ]
I will. But I don't wanna stop now, I can promise you that much.
[ The bedroom's not much. A table low to the ground, a futon, a TV he doubts they're going to get much use out of, sliding doors leading out into the backyard. ]
I'm not -- I mean, I haven't done much. [ He's done very, very little. But it's hard to feel ashamed or embarrassed right now. ] So you might hafta be a little patient. But I'm ready to learn.
[ And that's the whole of it, isn't it? I'm ready. Even with Traci, he'd been comfortable with where they were, a little resistant when it came time to keep going. But he's older now, and this feels good, certain.
She's never had much trouble telling him what's what anyway. Traci being more experienced was intimidating. Ruka being more experienced is a relief. ]
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[ It's teasing, but it's fond, sincere. It's hardly her first time — it's been a long time since she could call herself chaste — but it's very, very different. With Eridan, cautious and fumbling, their slow progression had been half the consequence of their age, and half, quite simply, that he wasn't human. The way he approached relationships wasn't human. And, well, the Alternian approach didn't call for much direct intimacy, so of course it had taken more time to work out what could work. Everyone else, boys but never boyfriends, time was always short. Guys that flirted in the dark never intended to see her in daylight, and that was fine. She was a novelty prize — desperately sought in the moment, a thrill for the accomplishment, and gently discarded.
To put it another way, she has decent enough experience with guys wanting to be with her, but rarely, rarely with them wanting to be with her. Even Eridan, who'd dated her for years, who'd sworn fidelity and eternity and a thousand other lofty, romantic things... he'd never tried to know her. He was only ever desperate for prizes to hoard.
Descending to the futon is a little more careful a journey than it would be to a framed mattress, but it surprises her how soft it feels once they're down. This wasn't the kind of life she lived before becoming an imPort; she'd always had Western-style beds, way too large for a child's needs, and everything else high up, high class, sterile and removed from the world around them. She presses the heel of her palm down to test the yield, and finds it suitable.
On the plus side, no springs. Even better, it's never been used to roll up a cadaver. Always important.
As ever, her hand is drawn back to his face, bare fingers scratching into beard. Her own expression is made soft by the look of him; she doesn't have to worry about noise, but it makes her speak more quietly, anyway. ]
Don't worry about trying to do things right. [ Okay, telling him not to worry has never worked in literally any other circumstance, but she really means it this time. ] Just... follow what you want. That's all.
So, Jaime? What do you want?